A Taxing Time
by Daria6
Summary: Malcolm meets the IRS. Rated T because I think the IRS is much too scary for small children. COMPLETE


Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Paramount, not me. The tax form instructions belong to the US government, and I wouldn't want anyone to think they're mine. This is just for fun, not for profit. 

A/N: I actually wrote this last year, while procrastinating on doing my taxes, but realized I never posted it here. Since I am again staring at my tax forms, and trying to avoid doing them at any cost, I thought I'd take a break and post it for my fellow procrastinators. It's set sometime after season three, I guess. For non-US readers-- trust me, it is this bad.

The clattering sound of a padd being dropped on a table, along with a soft curse, drew Hoshi's attention. Taking her tea from the beverage dispenser she turned toward the sound.

"Good evening, Lieutenant. What are you doing?" She moved toward him, taking in the stacks of padds, and, of all things, sheets of paper that were surrounding him.

He looked at her, his expression grim. "Read this." He handed her one of the padds, and then returned to scowling at the paper in front of him.

_To Lieutenant Malcolm Reed:_

_It has come to our attention that you are an employee of an organization headquartered within the United States. Consequently, any income earned while in the employ of said organization is subject to federal tax._

_Furthermore, it has come to our attention that you have been an employed resident of the United States for the last three years, yet have failed to file income tax during that period as required under US Statute 666._

_Failure to remedy this situation by April 15, 2153 will result in further action by this organization. Penalties include fines and imprisonment of up to five years per offense._

_Sincerely,  
The United States Internal Revenue Service_

Hoshi's jaw dropped. "When did you get this?"

"As soon as we came out of the Expanse. There was that whole mess of backlogged messages we hadn't received, and this was in it."

"Do you really have to do it?" Hoshi asked, taking a seat beside him. She blew the steam off the tea, and watched with amusement as he scrubbed his hands through his hair before picking up another padd, staring at it for a moment, and then putting it down again and choosing another.

"Yes," he muttered. "Captain Archer talked to Admiral Forest, and they're going to find out if I really need to-- after all Starfleet isn't a United States organization-- but if it turns out I do, and I don't get it in by April 15th, I'll be..." he took the padd from her and read it outloud, "Subject to fines or imprisonment. Wouldn't that be wonderful press for Starfleet?"

"Hmmm," Hoshi tried to sound sympathetic, not amused; the look he shot her told her she'd failed miserably. "Today is... Friday, April 13th. You've only got two days."

"Ensign, I am aware--" he broke off, took a deep breath. "I know I only have two days. Now, if you'll excuse me." An idea occurred to him, and he turned to her. "Perhaps you could provide some assistance. After all, you are a linguist. They claim these instructions are in English, but I can't make heads or tails out of them." He waved the padd he'd been trying to interpret. "If you could call out what I need, I can enter it on this form. By the way, why don't you have to do this?"

"I do. I did. My accountant on Earth takes care of it. Malcolm, why are you using pen and paper?" Hoshi asked curiously.

"One of the rules. 'Non-US residents must file paper copies, in triplicate, to...' oh, I don't know. They just say so."

"Ah. I see." Hoshi could see he was on the verge of exploding, and decided it would be better to just get to the task at hand. "Okay, why don't we start?"

A curt nod was the only reply.

"Okay. You've got your 1040 form?"

Malcolm rifled through several papers, finally selecting one. "Yes, here it is."

Well, you know your name and address, right?"

He shot her a look, but laboriously entered the information, feeling odd using the archaic writing device.

"Wait." Hoshi had just read the next instruction. "Do you have a mailing label? A sticker with your name already on it? They prefer you use it."

"I don't have a mailing label."

"Never mind then. Just write it in. Okay, now put in your ITIN."

"My what?"

"Your ITIN. Individual Taxpayer Identification Number. For aliens. Instead of a social security number," Hoshi provided helpfully.

"I don't have an ITIN."

"You don't?"

"No."

"You need one. You'll have to get one."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "How do I do that?"

Hoshi peered at the instructions. "You have to do a Form W-7."

"Does it have a Form W-7 there?"

"No. But it says we can go to the IRS website and download any forms we need. You'll have your ITIN in four to six weeks."

"I don't have four to six weeks! I'll be in jail by then!" Malcolm's voice rose in frustration. "All the instructions are like that! They ask for something I don't have, and without having it, I can't get what I need. I--"

"Why don't we skip that part," Hoshi hastily intervened. "I'm sure Admiral Forest can get you one more quickly. We'll work on the rest of it. Okay, next line. You're single. That means you have to pay lots and lots of taxes, as penalty for not being married," Hoshi informed him. "You don't have any dependants do you?"

Hoshi giggled at the glare he shot her. "Oh, here's some good news! If the IRS considers "deep space" the same as "abroad", you might be able to exclude your income from taxes."

"Really?" It was the first good sign since he'd been begun trying to complete the tax form hours earlier. "How do I go about looking into that?"

"Get your Pub 54, and your Form 2555..." she glanced up. "You don't have a Pub 54, or Form 2555, do you?"

He shook his head, his shoulders sagging.

"Well, don't worry. You can file now, and then submit a revised form later, and get your money back. Maybe. Now, where is your W-2?"

"I don't have a W-2. Or W-3. Or a W-Anything. My pay goes to my bank. In London. Where the money sits and waits for me. WHILE I'M IN OUTER SPACE TRYING TO SAVE THE BLOODY PLANET FROM DESTRUCTION!"

Hoshi looked at him impassively. "You need a W-2. You have to attach it."

Exhausted, Malcolm sank back into his seat and dropped his head into his hands. "So where can I get a W-2?"

"Starfleet doesn't issue them. Too big a waste of paper, especially since nobody does taxes by hand anymore. They only send electronic versions. Didn't you get yours? In an email titled, 'Annual Earnings Statement (Substitute W-2)'?"

"I might have," he moaned. "I don't think I paid it any mind."

"Malcolm." Hoshi put the padd down and grasped his shoulders. She shook him, hard. "Go. To. Your. Computer. Check for the message. If you can't find it, get Trip to go to the message logs and pull it out of backup memory. You have to have that information. Go."

He looked at her as a drowning man looks at a life preserver-- she was his only hope of getting through this mess. "Right." He set his jaw and set out on his mission, leaving Hoshi puzzling over the instruction padd.

Malcolm strode back into the messhall an hour later, grasping the padd and a sheet of paper, and wearing a grim smile. "Once I got Trip to stop laughing, he found the file. I've even got a paper copy. So we should be done soon."

Hoshi took the paper from him. "Starfleet has been taking taxes from your paycheck--and here's your ITIN right here."

"Lovely. So... what next?"

"Do you have any other sources of income? Such as..." Hoshi read the instruction padd and snickered, "gambling earnings?"

"I did win the pool on how many times T'Pol would raise her eyebrow during one shift."

"I don't think we'll share that information with the IRS. Did anyone forgive you any debts?"

"No. I've had to-- that reminds me, Trip still owes me forty dollars! He--"

"Lieutenant, we're running out of time here."

"Right. No. I've paid all my debts."

"Now we need to talk about your investments. Do you have any?"

"Some. Why do they want to know?"

Hoshi sighed. "You have to pay taxes on the money it earns."

"That's rather unfair, isn't it? I bought them with my money, which they've already asked... oh, never mind," he gave up. "Here--" he shoved a piece of paper at her.

"Put Tab A in Slot A-1, but only after securing Tab B-2 into Slot B-  
2b--" Hoshi read.

"Not that," he pulled the paper from her hand. "These are the instructions for putting together a toy phase pistol for my nephew. I must have picked it up with these other instructions. They read much the same, don't they?" He handed her the correct sheet.

She studied it, and then pointed out where to enter the numbers. "Do you have any amorizable bond premiums?"

He looked at her blankly.

"Probably not. Okay. Back to the investments. Do you have any Qualified Dividends?"

"What do they have to be qualified to do?" he asked, mystified.

"I don't know," she mused. "They say we can look at Pub 550."

"I don't have--"

"I know, I know. You don't have Pub 550. Well, they give a description right here. 'Dividends you received on any share of stock that you held for less than 61 days, during the 120 day period that began 60 days before the ex-dividend date. The ex-dividend date--"

"Wait." Malcolm raised a hand to stop her. To Hoshi he sounded as though he were in pain. "I don't think I have any ex-dividends. I've tried very hard not to alienate my dividends." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "What, exactly, is an ex-dividend?"

"Hmmmm," Hoshi considered the question, trying to make sense of the instructions. "It doesn't say. They give a number we can call with questions..."

"Do you supppose anyone there speaks English?" Malcolm asked, knowing it was probably futile.

Hoshi ignored him to continue reading. "When counting the number of days you held the stock, include the day you disposed of the stock, but not the day you acquired it."

"I'm going to dispose of the whole bloody mess in a moment." Malcolm scowled. "I don't have that information. Besides, I don't think that part applies to me. I didn't sell anything. At least, I don't think I did... isn't that what the people who manage the stocks are supposed to figure out for you?"

"Yes." Hoshi held up another padd filled with lines of incomprehensible numbers. "Right here. They sent it to you in January."

"Oh, that blasted thing. Couldn't make head or tails of it." He paused. "Well, let's forget that part for now."

Hoshi sighed. "We can't forget that part, Malcolm. It says right here that these numbers have been reported to the IRS. The IRS gets very testy when people just 'forget about' money."

She picked up the padd again. As she scanned it, her interest was piqued. "Now, this one stock made some money, it looks like. What portion of it did you hold for more than five years? We have to enter the portion that you held for more than five years, but disposed of before May 6th of last year. Okay, we're going to need a Form 8615, Schedule D, or the Qualified Dividends and Captain Gains Tax Worksheet." Hoshi warmed to the task, entering numbers on the paper, carefully double-checking her work. When there was no reply, she looked up. "Malcolm?"

His head was buried in his arms as he groaned. "Please, make it stop. I promise to never, ever complain about the British tax system again. I do."

Hoshi kept writing. "Good. I think that finishes this section."

"So we're done then?" Looking a little dazed he stood. He rubbed his hands together briskly. "Thank you for your help, Ensign."

Hoshi looked at him with pity. "Oh no, Lieutenant. We're not finished. We've only just begun."

"Gifts to charity?" Hoshi yawned.

"No." The word was muffled, since Malcolm's head was buried in his arms. "No gifts to charity. No tuition expenses. No income earned as a farmer."

"Here's one you could deduct. Medical and dental expenses."

Malcolm lifted his head, for a moment hopeful, before dropping his head back onto his folded arms. "Phlox doesn't charge."

"Right. Okay, don't you own a house in San Francisco?"

He sat up, looking at her warily. "Is that good or bad?"

"Depends. Did you pay interest on the mortgage?" she asked.

"Yes." And then he sighed. "Does that mean another bloody form?"

"Malcolm, focus. It's three in the morning. I have to go on shift in another four hours..."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be keeping you here. You can go," Malcolm said, but his eyes pleaded with her to stay. After five hours of trying to guide him through the intricacies of the 1040, Hoshi knew he would be lost without her help.

"I'll stay," she told him. "But the interest, Malcolm. Do you know how much you paid? We can collect the documentation when we get to Earth."

"Perhaps we go back to the Expanse, instead?" he suggested. "I don't think they'll find me there."

"No." She nudged him, and when after searching through his records for several minutes he mumbled a number she wrote the amount on the form. "Malcolm, did you know if you bought your own weapon, you could deduct it?"

"Really?" He looked interested for the first time. "I did buy that new model phase pistol on display at the weapons show just before we left Earth." Happily he scrawled in the amount.

"And you have the receipt for it?"

His face fell. "A receipt?"

"You really shouldn't claim anything you don't have a receipt for, in case you get audited."

He looked horrified at the idea. "Perhaps we shouldn't put that on the form." He paused. "I should have kept the receipt? Really?"

Hoshi nodded, and then turned her attention back to the numbers jotted on the paper in front of her. "You know, you don't really have very many deductions. It might make more sense for you to take the standard deduction, instead of itemizing."

Malcolm's eyes were glazed. Hoshi tried to explain.

"If we itemize, you can deduct the cost of your uniforms, and weapons, and such..."

"Starfleet paid for most of them."

"Well, let's take the standard deduction then. Simpler."

He brightened. "Yes. By all means, let's simplify."

"But then you don't get the deduction for the weapon you bought, or the interest on the mortgage."

"But," he sputtered. "I paid--"

"Yes, but you're not itemizing," she patiently reminded him. "It's all or none. You're going with the standard deduction. Because it's simpler."

"Simpler. Right. But it's not--"

"Malcolm!"

"Right." He still didn't look happy.

"Okay, let's figure out what you owe, or what you get back... too bad you aren't married..."

He looked up sharply.

"Bigger deduction," she clarified. "Okay, you made... and your deduction is..." Hoshi mumbled under her breath, going back and forth between the forms, and the calculator on the padd. She double-checked checked her numbers, and then smiled. "You're going to get money back."

"I am?" He stood to look over her shoulder at the number on the padd, amazed. "Really, they'll refund that money to me?"

Hoshi nodded, smiling at the stunned expression on his face.

"Jolly good! Hoshi, you're a saint!"

"Don't forget to put it in the mail," she warned him. "You should get the refund in... oh, six weeks or so."

"Brilliant. I owe you, Ensign." He flashed her a smile, as he gathered the padds and papers that had spread out to take over two tables. As he prepared to leave, arms full, he called back over his shoulder, "You know, this tax system isn't really too bad is it?"

Hoshi smiled, and then a realization hit her. "Malcolm!" she called after the retreating form. He turned to face her. "What about your state tax form"  
Hoshi decided that purple wasn't the best color for Malcolm.

The End

Thanks for reading. To those who were reading my incomplete story "Second Best" I apologize for the very long delay. I will never again start posting a story before I have at least a draft completed. I do intend to try to finish it at the end of April, if I can get the feel for it again.


End file.
